


for forever

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Flashbacks, Graduation, Hugs, M/M, Relationship Study, gratitude, like in my matsuhana fic, the present part of the fic is set sometime before it but it's a Theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p> But the mere fact that the wing spiker next to him – the one who had been in the gym, training his serve long before the team arrived for after school practice, if the near empty ball cart was anything to go by; the one who had been almost manically energetic during the practice, completing the exercises with glee, outpacing everyone; the mere fact that he was sitting there like that, physically not unaffected, but certainly way less than Keiji, and mentally still as upbeat and happy as he was when strolling into morning practice with a bounce in his step, seemed to harden the material Keiji was made of from paper to metal. </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	for forever

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday to my favorite man child/owl hybrid bokuto, i saw [this art](http://fs5.directupload.net/images/160920/rtm42m56.png) of bokuaka and couldn't help myself (if anybody knows the original source please let me know!)  
> title is from hua chen yu's [for forever](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bBIo994O8g) which i recommend listening to during the second part  
> 

 

 

When Bokuto asks him to stay behind after practice, Keiji doesn’t think much of it.

In fact, he doesn’t think anything at all. He has set for Bokuto ever since he joined Fukurodani’s volleyball club in his first year, even before he was appointed the title of the team’s official setter; because their old one, a closed-off third year, had very high ambitions, but very clear priorities.

Those priorities did not even include spending time with his teammates outside the court, let alone doing extra toss practice on a moody wing spiker’s request. Although nobody really blamed him, it was clear that as long as he was the main candidate for his position, Fukurodani would have no formidable setter and ace duo.

That’s where Keiji comes in.

 

*******

 

The first time Bokuto asked him to toss for him, it was a slightly overwhelming deal. Though Keiji has never seen himself as unambitious, – realistic, yes, but he doesn’t have some kind of disappointment complex – there were certain expectations he willed himself not to have when signing up for volleyball in high school, and one of those was to spend more time as a setter on the court than his senpai. He had confidence in his skills and sense of the game, or at least enough to not get discouraged when something went wrong during practice games, but he did not expect anyone to pick up on either of these.

And nobody did.

Because, right after Keiji got over the shock and surprise of being asked for some kind of help by a third year with such a presence as the one Bokuto Koutarou emitted – Keiji’s volleyball magazines didn’t lie about his abilities, either –, he realized he wasn’t being asked because of any positive qualities he had to offer beyond the simple fact that he was there at the right place and the right time twice in his life.

Once, when back in middle school the coach, dealing with a bunch of kids completely clueless about the sport, simply divided them in groups for spiking and receiving and, when Keiji stood there as the last child with an uneven number, commanded him to go into a corner and set a half-deflated ball against the wall (happy times); and twice, when most of the team had left for the lockers after the last practice of the first week of school and Keiji was left behind, sitting on a bench and drinking from his water bottle.

Fifteen minutes in, Keiji was pondering over the definition of 'right' and 'wrong'.

Half an hour in, Keiji started to wonder how many of his senpai Bokuto Koutarou would most likely turn against him if he made a run for it.

But luckily, after another ten minutes, Bokuto let himself fall to the floor.

He was leaning against the antenna on his side of the net, knees bent, satisfied face flushed and glistening with sweat under the harsh gymnasium lights. After the long and excruciating practice they’d had beforehand – no playing, only rounds and rounds of flying receives, precision spiking and other exercises that left their muscles aching as if they’d never played any sport before – Keiji felt crumpled like a sheet of paper and flushed down the toilet drain, dissolving in water, and every inhale-exhale could not be deep enough.

But the mere fact that the wing spiker next to him – the one who had been in the gym, training his serve long before the team arrived for after school practice, if the near empty ball cart was anything to go by; the one who had been almost manically energetic during the practice, completing the exercises with glee, outpacing everyone; the mere fact that he was sitting there like that, physically not unaffected, but certainly way less than Keiji, and mentally still as upbeat and happy as he was when strolling into morning practice with a bounce in his step, seemed to harden the material Keiji was made of from paper to metal.

"One more?" Keiji asked quietly, before his mind could even register that he did.

Bokuto turned his head slowly to look up at him, his lower lip caught between his teeth, eyes round and wide, but didn’t answer immediately.

And that was the moment everything went to hell, because Keiji stopped biting his tongue the way he did the entire week, and added:

"Unless you’re too tired to spike any more of my tosses."

Looking back at it, Keiji should have appreciated Bokuto’s subdued – but not upset, that he had not yet known back then – state more, because as clever as he was, perhaps he did not actually expect for the spark in the ace’s eyes to be set aflame by just that one sentence.

And yet, here he stood again, posture screaming "toss to me".

Also actually screaming: "Aghkashee, toss to me!!"

Keiji didn’t know it yet, but beneath the layer of exhaustion, exasperation and confusion, he _was_ looking forward to playing matches with this guy.

 

*******

 

The lights are long since dimmed due to lack of movement in the gym and Keiji’s eyes are lulled into a drooped position by them. He sits on a bench, and waits, and drinks from his water bottle, until a dull click sounds from the locker room behind.

Keiji perceives the quietness of Bokuto’s steps as something of a warning come too late, the sound in a game once your character loses one life, and though he is an owl and not a cat, he doesn’t feel too alarmed as he remembers that he has a couple left.

"Akaashi," Bokuto says, dragging the two a’s out in near-falsetto, but compared to his usual manner of exclaiming Keiji’s family name, it sounds levelheadedly calm.

Keiji turns his head just the slightest bit, watching Bokuto walk around the bench and up to him in silence. There’s distance between them – distance that is usually not there, because Bokuto is beyond the concepts of speaking quietly and giving other people space, but times like these tend to remind that he does know they exist. Keiji is still not as far as worrying about Bokuto’s behavior, but he does register the light thud in his chest at the tangible quiet, in this strange way that isn’t yet an _I don’t like it like this_ , but already not a _This is a welcome change_.

Bokuto smoothens down the fabric of his shirt, and Keiji deliberately doesn’t watch his fingers. A grin spreads across his captain’s face, but it does reach his eyes – that’s what Keiji is looking for.

"I’ll be graduating soon," he says.

Keiji wills himself to be patient, to not give his reaction to such an opening sentence away by rolling his eyes or anything like that, because this doesn’t seem like a standalone statement.

The way Bokuto raises his head and squares his shoulders confirms that.

"So," exhale, "I wanted to give my thanks to you, Akaashi."

Keiji blinks a couple times, but nods to show that he’s listening.

"I wanted to thank you for being patient with me. I’m sure there are easier aces to play with, but _you_ —you never gave up, you always made the best out of everything, and spiking your tosses has been better than anything else," Bokuto elaborates and rocks back and forth on his heels.

Keiji reminds himself of how often he’s meant to inhale-exhale in the span of a second. He hopes he won’t forget it until on his way home.

"The way our team is right now – with me and the other third years – you built it. You’re the core of everything here, the foundation. You taught all of us how to keep our cool, how to build momentum slowly, but never submissively – persistently.

"You’ve never been one to be submissive, haven’t you, Akaashi?"

Bokuto chuckles, and though it doesn’t last long, it’s infectious enough to move the line of Keiji’s lips upwards, until he smiles.

"Well, that’s about it, actually. It’s been an honor to be playing by your side these two years. Nothing’s going to compare to this, I think. So thank you for being the best setter and vice-captain I could have ever asked for. I’m looking forward to seeing you take on being captain," Bokuto grins, part cheeky, part smug, all of it kind of breathtaking.

He’s always been full of surprises, Keiji reminds himself, no matter how many lists filled with weaknesses followed hours of analysis. He’s always been more than a category, more than a name – something you had to experience for yourself.

Hearing that Bokuto felt in a similar way about him renders him speechless.

But if he thinks the surprises are over, he’s got another thing coming. Because in one swift motion, just like that, the formal distance dissolves, and Bokuto’s warm, powerful arms are around Keiji.

He pulls him closer, so that the side of Keiji’s face is pressed against the crook of his neck, fits in there snugly, comfortable, his open mouth just shy of touching a jersey-clad shoulder. Keiji doesn’t know what to think or do – he wants to say that he’s frozen, when in reality, he’s never felt his own body run hotter at the sensation of Bokuto fisting the back of Keiji’s shirt, holding onto it as if he needs the support.

Keiji thinks he can feel the grip loosening, before he gets enough control over his limbs to rest his arms along Bokuto’s back, hands on his shoulders, and he lets himself go, even if only for a second, as he presses his nose against his neck and breathes in deep.

He wonders if he crosses any lines, feeling the way he does in Bokuto’s embrace, like he’d want to stay there until morning practice if he’d let him, but it’s not entirely his fault, he justifies. Bokuto started it, after all, just like he started the tradition of Keiji staying behind to toss to him.

And then he remembers his taunt, his inspired willingness to go along, and thinks – maybe he hasn’t been careful enough. Maybe Bokuto knows.

Maybe he doesn’t mind anymore.


End file.
